


Pretty Dangerous

by Luki



Category: Bleach
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 01:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4460390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luki/pseuds/Luki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone always underestimated Yumichika.  Ikkaku thought it was a pretty telling testament to how stupid most of the Sereitei was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Dangerous

**Author's Note:**

> I admit it, pretty much the only reason I keep going back to Bleach is for Ikkaku and Yumichika. Decided I wanted to write something about them...it sort of hit a brick wall and this came out instead. Enjoy.
> 
> Note: Not exactly detailed, but there is a bit of a slaughtering spree so best to warn in case.

**Pretty Dangerous**

 

Everyone always underestimated Yumichika.

Ikkaku thought it was a pretty telling testament to how stupid most of the Sereitei was. The Eleventh Division was the only squad to rank officers by their fighting prowess. Nobody batted an eye at the little pink haired girl as their vice-captain, or questioned the lack of fourth seat, and yet Yumichika was considered a non-event.

At least, by everyone outside of Squad Zaraki. Because Yumichika made damn well sure everyone in the division knew why he had his seat.

It was also why Yumichika's favourite time of the year was Squad Eleven's ranking trials, and why Ikkaku could see him scanning the newest academy pupils with glee.

There were several categories for new recruits. First were the lifers, who came in two breeds, smart and dumb. The Shinigami who had barely scraped through the academy and were here because nowhere else would take them - and had no desire to go anywhere else. The dumb ones hung around the centre of the courtyard, shoulders filled with pent up aggression but not actually channelling it towards anyone. The ones who wanted to fight and didn't really care about the arena. They wouldn't try to rank - too much responsibility to get in the way of shoving a sword in someone's face, and mostly they'd fall into the masses and die in the masses.

The smart lifers looked a lot like the dumb lifers, only their eyes were constantly flitting around, sizing up prospective opponents. They wanted to fight, but they weren't going to be happy standing in a crowd. Seats would be challenged, and very often won. Smart lifers generally went into fights they could win.

They were always his favourites. Ikkaku had found quite a few good drinking buddies and sparring partners in the lifers.

Then there were the losers, the ones that didn't want to be here but didn't get any other offers. They assumed that some combat experience would pad up their resume and get them a nice comfy transfer. Some of them would try the lower seats, fail, and then stick around and twiddle their thumbs before dropping out completely. They stuck to the corners and Ikkaku dismissed them as a non-entity.

Moving up in the ranks, hanging around the edges, were the transfers.

The transfers would want a rank too, but they were rarely fun to watch fight. They were what the losers wanted to be - Shinigami who wanted to go somewhere else but needed more 'experience'. The only difference was these one had gotten offers for non-ranks, but weren't willing to enter another squad without status. They'd crawl up the officer ladder before hitting the single digits and transferring into whatever squad was now looking for an officer with 'combat experience'. The difference between them and the losers was just sheer confidence and a tendency to match glares with the smart lifers.

Then there was the real entertainment of the day. They had a dozen nicknames - sacrificial lambs, the Darwin's, the suicidal, but they were most commonly referred to by the squad as 'Yumichika's fodder'. Idiots who made the dumb lifers look like squad 12 applicants. It wasn't always easy to pick them out in a crowd, arrogance and aggression often made them hard to spot between lifers and transfers.

But when the Captain made his speech, and Yachiru gave a cheery explanation for just how the ranking trials would work, they shone like goddam beacons.

Squad Eleven gave seats through battle. If you wanted a seat, you had to beat the current holder. If the previous holder died, the lower seat got a promotion. When some bright eyed transfer (it was always a transfer) in the crowd asked about the fourth seat, Yumichika put on his most charming and innocent smile and said.

"Well you'll have to beat the fifth seat, which would be me."

(Ikkaku swore that bastard managed to get his voice higher and higher every damn year).

The smart lifers would think about this, realise there was probably a damn good reason fourth seat was vacant, and start eyeing up sixth seat and below. The transfers would figure it out pretty easily, but not quite dismiss the option.

The fodder though? The fodder all had their eyes on Yumichika. Pretty, delicate, feather-faced Yumichika who couldn't look less of a threat if he'd been carrying a white flag. As it was, Yumichika always came to the ranking trials dressed in his best uniform and most intricate accessories, just to make himself look that little bit more delicate. By this point, the man had the 'harmless and decorative eye candy' act down to an _art form._

Within seconds, there were no less than five demands to fight the fifth seat, and everyone headed for the courtyard.

* * *

Zaraki would never admit it, but when Ikkaku had strolled into Squad Eleven, he had completely dismissed the pretty man at his side. With his unblemished skin, long silky hair and delicate body shape, he had made the same mistake that every idiot in the Sereitei made the first time they saw Yumichika. Ikkaku's cheerleader, a pretty ornament kept around for entertainment or novelty - not someone to be feared.

It was only after the 'delicate flower' more or less dissected the former fifth seat in the ranking trials (complete with his recently promoted third seat laughing his head off in the background), that Zaraki remembered Ikkaku warning him off interfering with their fight, and realised how stupid he'd been, treating the man the way others treated Yachiru.

Ikkaku didn't need a cheerleader, and fighting was his entertainment. A feral dog doesn't hang around a cat unless said feline can hold his own. And catfight jokes aside, the pretty boy could match Madarame step for step, and usually come out of the fight covered in far less blood and gore.

The ranking trials were no different, and Zaraki slouched in his usual seat, a bottle of sake in his arms, his second and thirds at his side, and got ready to enjoy the show. By this point, they could usually guess the exact timeline of events. Yumichika, regardless of number of challengers, would only fight three. The first would be a huge brawny idiot, the second would be talented but inexperienced, and the third would have achieved Shikai and mistakenly assume that mean an automatic victory.

The first challenger certainly looked the part. He towered over the fifth seat, a dark Mohawk sprouting from his otherwise bald head and zanpakuto clutched in beefy hands in a way that suggested he would much prefer to be doing this barehanded.

Yumichika seemed to pick up on it too, and merely stood with his hands behind his back, smiling serenely.

(The more experienced members of the squad shuddered, and took an additional step back)

Yachiru perched on her Captain's shoulder, and help up her hand.

"Challengers, fight! Make it quick Feathers!"

The fodder lunged for the fifth seat, zanpakuto flying, ready to cleave his delicate opponent in two.

Only said delicate opponent was no longer there.

He had a split second to be confused, before Yumichika appeared behind him, unsheathing his zanpakuto and severing the challengers head from his body.

There was silence from the onlookers, broken only by the sound of Ikkaku's laugh.

"Three seconds Yumichika! That's a new record!"

The squad would laugh or groan depending on how they'd bet, and Zaraki grinned as money exchanged hands amongst the division. Yumichika had a point of never letting the first challenger live, and betting on how quickly (and easily) their fifth seat could kill them was pretty much tradition at this point.

These idiots had no idea what they were up against.

* * *

The second was a lot more cautious, but the fodder seemed to assume the first had just been too inexperienced. The intelligent new recruits were already be eying up the fifth seat with a certain amount of respect, figuring out the trick. The next challenger was rather nondescript. Average height, average shape, average hair – about the only thing not average was his stance, years ahead of the dead man whose blood still staining the ground beneath the two.

A natural warrior, with guts and talent. But young – too young to know better.

His first attack also missed, but to his credit, managed to block Yumichika's counterstrike with some ease. The next attack was blocked, but he continued to advance, matching Yumichika blow for blow.

The smile however, never left the fifth seats face.

Approximately ten seconds in, Yumichika didn't bother to block the next strike, but instead darted in, hand grabbing his opponent's wrist and snapping it cleanly.

His opponent grunted, sword falling to the ground. His recovery at least was admirable, ducking out of the way and grabbing the sword with his other. Partially ambidextrous, not bad – although from the grip, not quite mastered. Yumichika in turn, slid a hand along Fuji Kujaku and darted back in.

Again, there was no need to block. His sword cut the green recruit from thigh to collar bone before he could get in the strike.

The new recruits could only stare in shock as the corpse hit the ground, Squad Eleven resumed exchanging money and the Third Seat laughed.

It took less than twenty seconds.

And the Fifth Seat was barely ruffled.

* * *

By now the challengers were starting to back away, those who were in the running starting to realise exactly what they'd signed up for, and trying to figure out how to get out with their lives intact. But there would always be one who'd still step forward, assuming he could win by letting Yumichika underestimate him. Walk into the ring with confidence that his opponent had already fought twice, and wasn't expecting much.

This year was no exception, and his challenger immediately released his shikai. The katana reshaped itself into a broadsword, and Yumichika was forced draw his sword or lose his head.

Obtaining shikai was impressive, especially for academy greenhorns, and it always excited the newbies. The release of shikai would give the would-be challengers hope, and they'd draw closer to the fight expecting to see victory, and be relieved they wouldn't have to fight the fifth seat after all.

Idiots.

Yumichika gave himself approximately one minute to take down his final opponent. He'd draw him in, let him get in a few good hits, lull him into a false sense of security.

And then he'd attack.

He didn't unseal his zanpakuto. Oh no, that was complete overkill. He had been the fifth seat of the Seireitei's combat division for close to a century. He was not about to demean himself by unsealing Fuji Kujaku against an Academy Graduate. Ikkaku would never let him live it down.

…Though the cut he'd get from the betting pool if he actually did often made him consider it.

Instead, once his opponent was in just the right spot, his speed increased, and before he could recognise the danger, Yumichika's sword had sliced straight through his sword arm.

Another swing, and the other arm followed.

There was no shriek, no cry of pain. The challenger just stopped, staring at the limbs bleeding out on the ground with dim confusion. He dropped to his knees almost without thought, mindless of the sword curving through the air.

Another swing, and yet another head rolled away from the torso. Yumichika did a little half step, mindful of the blood spatter heading in his direction, before sheathing his sword and smiling over at the pale and panicking recruits.

"Next? Or are you having second thoughts?"

The rest of the squad chuckled, a dark sound murmuring through the courtyard. The question was a trick in and of itself. Anyone who chose to enter now would survive. After the third, Yumichika would usually just knock out any challengers if they got into the ring, while those who just fled usually ended up on a suicide mission within the first week. Squad Eleven didn't run away from fights, regardless of whether or not they could win.

Neither of the additional challengers made a move for the courtyard, and Ikkaku mentally listed them on the next KIA report he'd need to fill out for the month as Yumichika dismissed them and returned to his side. Limbs folded elegantly on his seat as he smirked at his oldest friend, the new recruits muttering amongst themselves about future challenges, but watching Yumichika with horrifying awe.

"Really, you'd think by now my reputation would have preceded me. Or someone at the Academy would have given them a warning."

Ikkaku smirked. "Please. Hardly anyone ever see's you fight, and don't act like we don't know you bribe the teachers not to warn off your fodder. You love showing off."

Yumichika chuckled, brushing strands of hair away from his face. "Well, this little show and tell does make proving the point so much simpler. And reduces the body count. Would you rather I went back to the days where I was killing some upstart every hour for insulting me?"

"Those days were fun!" Yachiru replied, listening from her perch. "We got to play 'whose too dumb to live' with the new guys. And then put them on cleaning duty!"

Zaraki snorted. "The ones that still had limbs at least."

Despite the blood and carnage, the new recruits were recovering fast. There were calls coming in, hard and fast - this time from transfers and lifers. All crowing for seats.

But nothing over sixth. Ikkaku smirked.

Never underestimate Yumichika.


End file.
